


In Darkness

by bottledspirits



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottledspirits/pseuds/bottledspirits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a dark and stormy night in the pink palace, and Rum narrowly avoided getting in trouble with the matches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Here, Marchie. Here is your smut. I pray it is satisfactory.

The storm was worsening. Already the sky was black and the rain beat heavily on the windowpanes.

Rumplestiltkin rummaged through the kitchen cabinets, flashlight in his mouth and one hand braced against the counter to hold himself up. He found the box of emergency candles at the very back of one of the cupboards. He was panting by the time he got them down, and his leg was screaming from the abuse. They’d spent all day pushing and grinding and lifting things around the house, and this was not helping matters any.

Belle had asked if he wanted any help looking for the candles, but he’d told her he could take care of it. He wanted her to think he could do this much. She’d spent all day helping to organize his house, the least he could do was bring a little light into the place for her.

Instead, he’d asked her if she could get some extra blankets from the spare room upstairs. She’d smiled and assented in a heartbeat, assuring him that she would be right there if he needed anything.

That, in itself, was exactly what he needed.

The box rattled as he took it down. He wondered how many were left, though he didn’t remember ever using the candles at any time in the last 28 years.

Rumplestiltskin leaned against the counter, letting out a sigh of relief as the muscles in his leg relaxed. He felt around the box uselessly before realizing that the matches were somewhere else. Where, God only knew.

Grimacing, he glanced around the empty kitchen and listened carefully for a moment. The rain was still hammering away outside with no signs of stopping. It was almost soothing, in a way, but for the occasional gust of wind that sent the torrent hurtling sideways and shook the windows.

Over the noise, he could just make out a shuffling up the stairs. Belle was safely preoccupied with finding the blankets.

Slowly, so as to make no noise at all, he lifted one of the candles from the box and passed a hand over it, leaving a sputtering flame in his wake.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Belle called suddenly, her voice echoing oddly in the old house.

The sound made him jump. The candle dropped to the floor with a soft clatter and went out. Rumplestiltskin winced. There was an angry red mark on his palm where he’d held the candle a moment before. He ignored it. Taking the flashlight from his mouth and grabbing his cane off the counter, he shuffled toward the stairs.

“What is it, love?” he asked.  He leaned against the bannister and looked up to the second story, where he could hear her moving about.

“I said–” there was a pause, and a shuffling of feet. He raised the light in the direction of her footsteps, and then she was suddenly looking down at him over the railing, all bright eyes and dangling curls as she continued, “–are you sure it’s all right for me to spend the night?”

He frowned at that, troubled at the very idea that she thought he would send her out into that storm.

“Of course,” he said, craning his head to look at her. “You know you’re always welcome here, Belle.”

She smiled. It was the kind of expression that changed her whole face, somehow making her even more beautiful than before.  His breath caught as their eyes met.

“Did you find the candles?” Belle asked, and Rumplestiltskin gave a confused blink as he remembered what he’d been doing the last few minutes. By all rights, he couldn’t remember why he was down here when she was up there.

“Yes, I…I did. They’re in the kitchen. I’ll get them and meet you upstairs, shall I?” he asked, with the air of one who would gladly have traveled the world to find a hairpin she could use.

She nodded, still smiling, and vanished over the railing once more. He lowered the light and saw the faint glow of the one he’d given her to use retreating up the stairs.

Rumplestiltskin turned about and rushed to the kitchen as quickly as he dared. He picked up the dropped candle and deposited it into the box with the others. With an impatient gesture, he magicked a book of matches into the box as well. Belle wouldn’t question where they came from.

He grabbed the box. Another gust of wind rattled the windows at that moment. Rumplestiltskin found he wanted very much to be upstairs, wherever she was. Nights like these reminded him too much of the lonely nights spent in the castle, listening to the howl of the wind outside.

Hurrying to the stairs, he moved to tuck the box of candles into his pocket before remembering he’d taken off his jacket to work around the house that afternoon. It was probably silly to wear a suit for moving furniture, but he’d felt half-dressed as it is without the jacket. Belle hadn’t said a word, though she had glanced at him a few times after he’d removed the jacket.

Rumplestiltskin put the flashlight back in his mouth to light the way and began the arduous climb up the stairs. He hated this house. He hated Regina for putting him in it. He hated the stupid curse for bringing him here and trapping him in a place where he could not look for his son. He hated –

“Would you like a hand?” a voice broke through his thoughts.

He whipped his head toward the sound and found Belle on the landing, just a few steps above. She blinked in the light of the flashlight, so he ducked his head so that it wasn’t shining on her face.

She was dressed in plain jeans and an old sweater of his, appropriate attire for moving things in a dusty old house all day, if not the most glamorous. But he didn’t even notice. All he thought as he they stood there, watching each other, was how often she looked happy to see him.

Belle offered her hand, saw both of his were full, and took his wrist instead. Together they managed to haul him to the top of the stairs, where he paused to rest his leg.

“Mrff,” Rumplestiltskin said, wanting to acknowledge her help despite the flashlight in his mouth.

Belle laughed and took it out for him. She hardly seemed to notice the saliva. Rumplestiltskin flexed his jaw with relief, his tongue darting over his lips to banish the aftertaste of metal. Belle’s lips quirked into a smile.

“You have the candles?” she asked.

He raised the box and gave it a little shake, causing the contents to rattle. Belle’s smile didn’t waver as she took it, and he returned it with one of his own flickering grins.

“Good, I found the – oh!”

She spotted the matches in the box at the same time as she showed him another, half-spent book between her fingers. He wasn’t sure where she would have found them. Was he really that careless with the things?

“How many do you have? You don’t smoke, do you?” Belle asked, casting a suspicious glance his way.

“No!” Rumplestiltskin replied, much too quickly. He couldn’t recall touching a cigarette in his time in Storybrooke, but it was hard to feel anything but guilt under that penetrating stare.

Belle let out an ominous  _hmm_ , evidently not convinced, but did not argue further. She led the way down the hall with the flashlight she’d taken from him. He assumed she would stop at one of the guest rooms. Instead, she stepped lightly through the doorway of his room, as if it was any other room to her.

Rumplestiltskin paused by the doorframe. Belle had gone to the dresser and was lighting one of the candles. He watched the flame spark into life and illuminate her face, the glow suffused over her cheeks while the light danced in her hair. She was bent over the dresser in such a way that he could just make out the curve of her back through the loose folds of the old sweater. He tried to suppress the heat in his face as she rose, slowly, making him aware of the lithe movements of her limbs.

Belle turned and saw him staring. She tilted her head, as if eyeing a puzzle.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

He shook his head and moved from the doorframe, which he’d been leaning against as he watched her.

“No, everything’s fine,” Rumplestiltskin replied, though he did not meet her eyes.

Belle’s gaze lingered for a moment, as if she did not believe him, but then she turned away to dispose of the spent match she’d used to light the candle. As she moved, he noticed she was shivering.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

He crossed the room before she could answer. Belle looked up, eyes wide, as if he’d startled her.

“No–” she began, though her tone was hardly convincing.

Rumplestiltskin leaned his cane against the dresser and reached out to press a hand to her cheek before she could protest. His heart hammered with the bold movement, and with the sudden contact, but he told himself he was only making sure she was all right.

“You are,” he said, brow wrinkled with concern, and cupped her face with both hands. “Belle?”

“It’s all right,” she said softly, reassuring him. “It’s just not very warm in this old house of yours.”

His lips twitched at that, and he gave her face the lightest squeeze with his fingers.

“Indeed not,” Rumplestiltskin said.

They stood that way for what seemed like hours, neither knowing exactly what to do. The wind was still howling outside, and the rain pattered relentlessly against the window on the far side of the room, but all that he was aware of in that dark room was the sound of their breathing and the furious pounding of his heart.

He was just working up the courage to say something – though he knew not what, so it was probably for the best that he never got the chance to speak – when she dropped her gaze and brought her hands up to cover his. He drew a breath at the touch, no less intimate than the hand-holding they’d done at Granny’s, yet he felt that she held his very heart in those small hands.

“Do you like that?” she asked.

He tensed, like an animal caught in a trap. What could she…?

Before he could respond, Belle tugged at his hands, sliding them down until they rested below her throat. He could feel her pulse beating as rapidly as his. She held them there, as if afraid he would move away.

Her skin was so soft, and so warm, the heat pooling where their skin met. He could not resist drawing his thumb down the hollow of her throat. His rough fingers caught on her flesh, and he feared she would recoil at the harsh sensation, but her pulse fluttered under his fingertips and he heard her gasp.

She raised her eyes to his. There was a fire in them, an expression he first saw in another dark chamber, as they sat together so close that he could feel her breath on his face, as he asked why she had come back to him. Then, as now, she stared as if drunk on the sight of him, her lips parted ever so slightly.

“Do you like that?” Belle repeated. When he only stared at her in wonder, she added, “Touching. Do you like it?”

He nodded, dumbly, and gulped. There was little else he could do. His hands were trapped under her grip, and if he had not felt his heart hammering inside his chest, he would have sworn that it was beating next to hers.

His admission seemed to excite her, if the spark that flared in her eyes was any indication. She took a step back, pulling him with her. He followed obediently. He didn’t know where she was going, nor did he care; she could lead him by a string to his doom and he would not waste one step. He would not relinquish their brief contact for as long as she chose to maintain it.

“Would you like more?” she asked softly, her voice so low that it caused the hair on the back of his neck to rise.

“Belle–” Rumplestiltskin began, a note of panic in his voice. She could not mean this. She couldn’t.

“Would you?” Belle asked louder, her gaze steady on him.

He pressed his lips together, not knowing how to proceed or retreat without making a blunder. But Belle did not wait for him to respond. She took a step back, and another, guiding him in the darkness. It felt like a dance, gentle tugs and touch, and he was as dizzy as if he’d waltzed the whole night.

Then she was turning, whirling him about so their positions were reversed. He opened his mouth to speak, but she was lifting her hands from his, pressing his shoulder and pushing him back, down, until he met the bed with a soft  _thump_.

He looked up at her in wonder, eyes wide, and he could not believe what was happening, what she could possibly mean by all of this…

“Belle–” Rumplestiltskin tried again, more urgent this time, but she was moving closer, shifting her legs onto the bed until she was straddling him, and he was suddenly aware of the heat of her, for all that she was so chilled a moment ago. He bit his lip, struggling against the flood of sensation that was overwhelming him. They had not been this close since he had held her in his arms, all those years ago, after she had tumbled from the ladder. And even that had been innocent, compared to this.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing her body still closer to his. Rumplestiltskin’s hands had found their way to her waist, and he gripped her as tightly as he dared, unable to let her go yet still frightened by the onslaught of emotion he was feeling.

Belle slipped one hand to her waist, gently tugging at one of his until he reluctantly let go. She pulled his hand to her chest, letting it rest above her heart. She still wore the old sweater, and he could feel the outline of her bra beneath. He had never dared to touch her anywhere he thought she might object to, and this was definitely one such place.

“Where?” she asked, her fingers tickling the back of his hand. He merely gaped at her, so she took initiative, moving his hand to cup her breast.

“Here?” she asked, watching him with a smile musing about her lips.

His eyes drifted down to the swell of her chest, practically indiscernible beneath that shapeless rag he called a sweater, but he could feel…

He fingers moved of their own accord, sinking into her soft peak. She drew a slow breath, and her thighs tightened around him.

Suddenly it was too much. Rumplestiltskin jerked his hand away, as if burned, and shrank from her. It did him little good, pinned under her as he was, but he stared up at her with such apprehension that Belle dropped her hand and watched him, a pained look in her eyes.

“Do you want me to go?” she asked. She put her hands on the bed and began to lift herself away when he gave a low, keening cry.

“No!” he said, scrambling upright and grabbing for her hands. “No, Belle, no! I don’t want you to…don’t…don’t go, Belle. Please.”

This last he murmured into her hand, pressing his lips against the soft flesh. She had never seen him so desperate, yet she had witnessed the shadow of such a state in him many times. It was as if every time he looked at her, there was a plea in his eyes, a fervent wish so close to his heart that even he did not realize it.

What would it take to make this man, this trembling creature before her, safe in the knowledge that he was loved?

“Close your eyes,” Belle whispered.

He hesitated for a moment, then obeyed. Belle gently pushed him back until he was lying on the bed. She shuffled forward until she straddled his waist. He moaned at the touch, and Belle froze, waiting to see how he would respond. He winced, as if in pain, or as if he was concentrating very hard on something.

Belle leaned forward, doing her best not to put any unnecessary weight on him, and looked down into his face.

“Is that better?” she asked.

He nodded. She smiled, and he could hear it in her voice, though he could not see it.

“Good,” she said. “Keep them closed.”

She reached for his hand once more and brought it to her waist.

“Now, where…?” Belle asked, leaving the question in the air.

All was still, and neither said a word. Then, without her guidance, his hand began to move up, over her stomach. Belle said nothing, dared not even breath for the first few centimeters.

His fingers slipped under the old sweater, meeting her skin, and she felt heat flare all the way down to her core. She shuddered, and he paused, his hand poised over her navel, but she did not move. He moved again, the rough pads of his fingers catching on her flesh in such a way that made her skin tingle where he’d touched her.

Further up his hands drifted, and Belle realized his destination. She reached behind her back and fumbled with the catch of her bra until it came open. The garment fell away, brushing against his hand. He stopped when he felt it, and she saw his eyelids flutter, like he had almost opened them before he remembered himself.

“Love…” he murmured, his fingers clenching against her.

“Keep going,” she whispered breathlessly.

He made no objection. His fingers darted past her bra and pressed flush against her breast, brushing against her nipple, hardened by the growing arousal of the last minutes. Belle moaned at the touch and arched her body against his, suddenly needing more, needing…

She pulled back and began to strip off the horrible old sweater.

“Belle?” he heard her ask uncertainly.

“It’s all right,” she said, leaning closer now that the barrier was gone. “It’s better this way.”

She saw him frown. He reached up with both hands and felt smooth skin. She felt a thrill at the way his uncertainty melted into a kind of awe as he ran his hands over her body.

“Sweetheart,” Rumplestiltskin breathed, sounding pained.

She sighed at the endearment and pressed closer to him, her legs drawing tight around his waist. He groaned at that, covering his eyes with one hand.

“You’re going to kill me,” he said with a weak laugh.

Belle only smiled and rocked against him, eliciting another moan.

“Never me,” she said, her grin widening as she bucked against him once more and he pressed his other hand to his face.

She repeated the movement, angling her hips back just slightly, and felt a rush as he rose to meet her thrust. His head rose and fell and against the bed, and she wondered if he was aware he’d done it.

“Does that feel good?” she asked, hardly recognizing her own voice. She felt like she was riding atop a wave of adrenaline.

“Yes,” he hissed, wrenching his hands from his face to grip the bedspread. “Yes, Belle. Please…!”

She began to move in a rhythm, thrusting harder and harder with her own need, and through the dizzying haze of sensation tried to memorize every movement that made him moan or cry out. He brought his hands up to clutch her thighs, his fingers growing taut with each stroke of her hips and slack when she drew back for breath.

Gradually she felt something building in her. It was warm, almost unbearably so, and so strong that it bordered on the edge of pain. Yet something in her craved it, drove her to meet stroke for stroke with the man beneath her. He was panting now, and a sheen of sweat gleamed on his brow. His hands gripped her legs, exerting the slightest pressure each time their bodies met.

She was aware of growing dampness in her core, of the heat bursting between them, but all she could focus on was that coiling sensation somewhere deep inside, of something growing tighter and tighter until she thought it might break.

“I…I can’t…” she panted, giving herself over to it. She felt as if she’d lost control of herself, yet still her body moved, still craved…

“Belle.”

She looked at him. His eyes were open, and from those amber depths she could see something she had never seen before in his eyes. It was not sadness, nor fear, just a radiating warmth that went to her very heart.

“My darling,” Rumplestiltskin murmured, never breaking their gaze for a moment. “My sweetheart, my Belle…”

At the sound of her name on his lips, she cried out, reaching her climax. She fell against him, drawing herself as close as possible while he continued to rock against her. She pressed her cheek to his chest, listening to the furious staccato of his heart, marveling at the strength of it. After a moment he shuddered and went lax beneath her. She rubbed her cheek against his shirt, enjoying the feeling of being close to him

Rumplestiltskin put an arm around her and gripped her shoulder as if she meant to escape. She sighed into his chest.

“Are you warm now?” he asked.

She laughed, a puff of amusement on the silky fabric of his shirt.

“Yes,” Belle said, closing her eyes. “Thank you.”

He made a contented noise and began to draw circles on her shoulder. Suddenly he paused, and she looked up to find him frowning.

“Your sweater,” he said.

Belle looked around drowsily, the urge to sleep overpowering any concern for the sweater.

“Oh, it’s…somewhere, I guess,” she mumbled.

Rumplestiltskin made another noise, less happy than before, and let go of her in order to sit up. Belle watched him for a moment before the effort of keeping her head up exhausted her and she let it flop back onto the bed.

“Ah!” she heard him proclaim to the empty room. “Here we are.”

He came back and sat beside her on the bed, the ratty old sweater in hand, looking for all the world like a dog who had just done a trick and was running about its owner’s ankles for praise. Rumplestiltskin motioned for her to sit up. Belle did so with a sleepy groan. Her reaction must have amused him, for he was grinning as he held her arms up, helping her into the sweater.

“Mustn’t catch cold, sweetheart,” he said, tugging the sweater into place.

Belle glanced at his face as he worked and smiled at the boyish pride on his face. He enjoyed taking care of her as much as she enjoyed taking care of him. If only she could convince him of that without making him self-conscious about his age or his leg.

“There,” said Rumplestiltskin, once he’d fussed the sweater into place. He placed his hands on her shoulders and brought her close to press a tender kiss to her forehead.

One arm around her, he glanced about and saw the pile of blankets Belle had left at the foot of the bed. He leaned over, still holding fast to her, and picked them up. Belle sat patiently as he shook them out. Once finished, he drew Belle to the end of the bed and pulled her close, tossing the blankets over the two of them. Belle snuggled to his chest and felt a rush of warmth as he enclosed her in his arms.

They stayed like that for some time. Eventually the candle on the dresser burned itself out, and when it did, she felt him stiffen beside her.

“Belle?” he asked. There was something in his voice, an almost drunken quality. She wondered if he was the talkative type after all.

“Mmm?”

His arms tightened around her.

“Sometimes I think I’ll wake up in my castle and you won’t be there. That it’ll all have been some dream,” Rumplestiltskin confessed.

She was stirred from her stupor by the sadness in his voice. She tilted her head to look at his face and saw his eyes were squeezed shut.

Belle wrapped herself around him instinctively. He held her all tighter, burying his face in her hair and breathing deeply.

“I dreamed about you too, you know,” she said quietly, “when I was in the Queen’s dungeon. And before, when I was traveling. I dreamed of you every day.”

He said nothing, only clutched her like a lifeline.

“But those were dreams, Rumplestiltskin. I wouldn’t trade them for the world, but they were only dreams. If you don’t believe me…”

She loosened one arm and reached out to cup him in one hand. He jolted with surprise.

“How’s that?” Belle asked, a grin in her voice.

He snorted.

“Very reassuring,” he mumbled, blowing at her hair in revenge.

“If you ever need a reminder, let me know,” Belle said airily, moving her arm to embrace him once more.

He gave a sleepy grumble and loosened his hold, but did not let go.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he muttered. Belle smiled.

“You better.”

They began to drift off.

“Belle?”

She managed a tired noise of acknowledgement.

“Wasn’t it raining earlier?” 


End file.
